


A Matter of Diplomacy

by Sunshineditty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshineditty/pseuds/Sunshineditty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is part of a wolfpack...and it isn't the Beacon Hills one. (Rated M for Mature situations)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glitter on the Floor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sweet Moment](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/26325) by Caim-Thomas. 
  * Inspired by [Teen Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/26326) by Ajjizom. 
  * Inspired by [Stilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/26327) by Sudjino. 



> Listening to club music and wanting a little smut. Since I don't normally write sex scenes, I challenged myself to write a fairly explicit one to expand my horizons, but don't be surprised if its amateurish. Also, there is a moment of snowballing, so don't read if grossed out by that.

Stiles swiveled his hips and threw his hands up like he didn't just care.

And to be honest, right now, he didn't.

He was single, young, and fucking hot, damnit. He deserved to be here, regardless of what Ethan or his twit of a brother thought.

"I haven't seen you around before," a rough voice purred in his ear right before strong hands clamped down on his hips. Normally Stiles didn't enjoy people in his personal space - there's a reason why it's called  _personal space_  - but when he was on the dance floor, it didn't matter. Nor did the erection rubbing up against him, separated only by distressed denim (his) and leather (mystery man). "Alone tonight?"

"Dude, if you're trying to ruin the moment, keep talking. Otherwise shut your pie hole and fucking  _dance_."

The answering chuckle whispered against the sensitive hairs on his nape, and Stiles shivered delicately, the high from the music transforming into another more primitive heat. He hadn't gotten laid in months, and for once he wasn't beholden to  _anyone,_ sono one would care if he got his nut off in the bathroom or not. It wasn't the first place he'd pick for a sexual encounter, but it would do in a pinch.

Stiles did a few complicated moves which involved plastering his butt against the stranger's crotch while similtaneously winding his arms around the guy's neck. It was for a twofold purpose: it made him appear vulnerable, which was always a plus especially if the guy was a werewolf, and it also allowed him to check for weapons. Sure wolves had ones Nature intended, but nowadays with hunters upping the ante, they also packed others just in case. His companion groaned low in his throat and took the bait, nipping ungently at the bared skin afforded by Stiles' collarbone-brushing shirt. Stiles was delighted to confirm a wolf - probably a beta - was his partner and aside from illegally tight pants and a soft tank top, not packing anything more dangerous than a hard dick Stiles had every intentions of seeing tonight.

"Want to get out of here?"

Words from his mouth to God's ear. "Hell yes."

The hand wrapped around his wrist was tipped in razor sharp claws, though it was dark enough in the club no one would notice unless standing right with them. His mystery guy knew the way to the alley exit and soon they were freed from the cloying heat of a few hundred bodies packed into a tight space, and the relative cool of the California night seeped into Stiles. It was relief, as was the feel of the rough wall against his back, and the wolf pressed against his front. They were of the same height so there wasn't any awkward tilting of heads or standing on tip toes - Stiles once fucked a Russian wolf who was  _mammoth_  in all ways - as their mouths sought dominance with nipping kisses and long heated tongue strokes.

Gasping, Stiles finally drew back for a breath, and to finally look at the man in his arms. The light was bright enough he could see his lover was dark-haired and pale-eyed with a sharply angled stubbled jawline that could make angels cry; and Stiles wasn't anywhere close to an angel, so he bit at the contours of his face before licking his way down the guy's strong neck muscles to his heavily muscled shoulders. Stiles knew wolves and avoided the areas guaranteed to trigger aggression, so he was startled when a clawed hand thrust him away when he reached for the tank top, intending to move it out of his way.

"No. Leave it on."

Stiles shrugged and changed trajectory by dropping to his knees, so he could mouth at the flies of the leather pants stretched to what must be excrutiating lengths. He looked up and smirked. "This all for little ole me?"

He didn't bother waiting for a response and found the zipper which he drew down until the pants parted, proving the wolf went commando when his cock popped out of its prison. It was large, uncut, and already drooling seminal fluid from its flushed tip - Stiles husked a sound of pure want before sucking the wolf's cock between carefully guarded teeth and convulsively swallowing until it rested against the tightness of his throat. He was fortunate not to have a gag reflex, so he began a brisk pace of bobbing and tonguing to the tortured sounds of a man getting the blowjob of his life. Soon hands - not clawed this time, what a relief - bunched in his longish hair as the wolf took over, his hips speeding up until Stiles could only relax his mouth to avoid injuring either of them. Being skull-fucked in an alley was insanely hot, and Stiles fumbled at his own crotch until he was able to pull his dick out and start his own brutal pace. The tensing of the heated muscle in his mouth warned him a moment before the wolf growled furiously as his balls contracted and spat out copious amounts of thick white fluid that Stiles eagerly drank down.

"You're not allowed to come," the wolf spoke then, just as Stiles finished swallowing and resumed fucking his own tight fist. 

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Don't call me Dude."

Stiles was unceremoniously hauled up from his knees, and dragged towards the parking lot despite his protests and his dangling dick. Sure it was late enough no one was on the streets and early enough no one from the clubs were coming out so he wouldn't be spotted, but Stiles wasn't used to being manhandled like this despite his years in a wolf-pack. They stopped beside a gleaming black car that Stiles didn't recognize nor had any intentions of entering as the first rule of being kidnapped was to never get transported to a new location.

"Uh huh. No way. You got yours now I'll get mine."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"Uh..." Stiles wasn't very eloquent right now, but could you blame him? His mind was still pleasantly swimming in endorphins and his dick was perky despite the danger - or, most likely, because of it. He had a weird response to death and danger, which probably made his life choices understandable. 

The car door opened, though no light came on, and Stiles was thrust in sideways so his butt was in the seat, but his feet were planted on the cement. The wolf nudged his way between his thighs and settled between them before a hot fanged mouth descended and proceeded to suck what was left of his brains out.

Stiles had been raised away from humans and endoctrinated into the werewolf community at an early age, so all of his sexual encounters were with supernatural beings. And to the man - and one woman, but she  _so_ didn't count - none of them ever reciprocated blowjobs, especially after getting off. This was completely new territory for him and he was terrified of screwing it up which in turn made it harder for him to actually achieve orgasm despite how close to it he was in the alley.

"You're thinking too hard," the wolf whispered, drawing back with a pop.

Stiles stuttered a laugh, helplessly waving a hand at the wolf's current position. "You shouldn't kneel before me."

"Why not?"

"Because you're you, and I'm me." 

What went unsaid was their respective species, but Stiles knew the wolf knew he knew what he was. Though he doubted the wolf knew what  _he_ was.

"I want to."

"It's just...weird." _Unsettling. Unnecessary._

"Unwanted?"

"I'd say there are ten inches of proof to the contrary."

"Eight if you're reaching."

"Nine at least."

"In your dreams."

"Or maybe in yours," Stiles retorted, shocked anew at the teasing. He wasn't used to someone  _playing_ with him.

The deep bite to his inner thigh, so close to his ballsack, jolted him and he sank backwards onto his elbows when the wolf resumed his sucking and licking. The gear shaft was a hard knot in his back, but Stiles had loosened up enough it didn't detract from the glorious heat wrapped around his dick. In no time at all, he could feel himself at the point of no return, and he lightly scratched his lover's head in warning. Instead of drawing back, the suction got stronger, and Stiles nearly wailed as he spurted long and hard into the wolf's mouth, chest heaving with the exertion of trying to breath through the insane pleasure. 

Stiles may have blacked out - or whited out as the case may be - for a few seconds because he didn't remember the wolf getting up and pulling him forward. The gleam of his eyes was hidden in the parking lot's gloom, but Stiles knew the color would be either Omega blue or  Beta gold, and he eagerly opened his mouth to the pressure of the other's lips. A long thick tongue pushed fluid across the barrier of his teeth and Stiles knew then the wolf hadn't swallowed, but kept it for him. He accepted it and drank it from him as eagerly as he had from the wolf's cock. It should've been gross tasting himself, but instead it fed a deep-seated desire, and he sighed contentedly.

"Come home with me," the invitation was breathed against his lips when they finally parted.

His first response was to say an unequivocal _yes_ , but Stiles quashed it before it reached his mouth. His time was not his own nor was he in his own territory. Hill Valley was neutral grounds for the packs co-existing in Beacon Hills County, and Stiles was in town for a reason. So was the wolf unless he actually lived here, which while unlikely, was a distinct possiblity. Lone wolves weren't common, but not exactly rare either, so it could stand to reason Stiles would come across the only one in the area. Knowing his luck, however, he ruled it out and proceeded with the usual protocol. 

"I can't. It's a school night."

The wolf stiffened against him, and stepped back a pace as if to fully look at Stiles. "Please tell me you're legal."

Stiles was startled into laughter as the wolf took his meaning the wrong way. Apparently he  _didn't_ know the code words, and Stiles relaxed at once. He couldn't be a wolf from one of the packs he was dealing with tomorrow at the Assembly, and therefore Stiles hadn't crossed any lines. 

"Don't worry, Dude, the Po-Po won't be pulling you in for sexing up a minor."

Kali always laughed at him whenever he complained about being carded at his age, and muttered he wouldn't mind his baby-face when he was middle-aged. 

"I thought I told you not to call me Dude."

"Well, it's either Dude or Hey You, since I never got your name."

The startled silence reverberated as the wolf absorbed his statement. 

"It's - "

"Lets not do this."

"This?"

"This -" he motioned between them. "There's no need. We danced, we laughed, we had fun. I had a great time and I know you did too." 

Stiles leaned forward and gave a short if filthy kiss. "Nice knowing you...Dude."

"My name isn't Dude!"

"It is tonight," Stiles called back, already half way across the parking lot. He had no reason to go back into the club, and slipped his phone from his pocket to dial his ride.

The line rang once.   _  
_

"Come get me."

"Already? Strike out?"

Stiles grinned, "That's a negative, Ghost Rider. The pattern was full."

"Jesus, Stiles. How do you  _do_ it every freakin' time?"

"Skill, my man, pure skill."

"Yeah, yeah," came the expected grumbling. "You're lucky I like you."

"I like to think of myself as touched by the Gods."

"You're touched alright."

"You on the way?"

"Yeah, just be waiting out front."

 _Click_.

Stiles knew his driver would be shortly as their hotel room wasn't far from the club, and he made his way to the entrance. He melted into the shadows and indulged in people watching, a favorite pastime of his, and ruminated on the delicious events of the evening. When he'd set out earlier to find a little action, he hadn't expected it to go the way it had. A tingling warmth suffused him, and he chuckled soundlessly at the feeling. Tonight was more than adequate and the nagging sense of emptiness had abated, which was always a plus in his book.

A sleek white car rolled up, one tinted window slightly cracked. The dark-skinned driver grinned when he opened the passenger door, his eyes glowing gold for a moment before settling back to their normal black. 

"Damn I can smell just how much fun you had."

Stiles stuck out his tongue as he slid into the front seat. "Just turn off your nose then, Boyd."

The wolf made a show of twisting his nose. "Don't think this has an off-switch."

"Then you can enjoy the funk while I tell you what fun I had." Not that he had any intention of sharing the details, but man he loved winding Boyd up.

"Noooo - I'm still recovering from the time with the Brit."

"Not my fault you broke into the room."

"Oh my god Stiles, the way you were hollering we thought you were dying."

Stiles rolled his eyes at the inherent drama of wolves. "You could certainly tell I wasn't being murdered. There wasn't any blood." He thought about it for a moment. "Okay, not a _lot_ of blood." A beat passed. "Okay, none of  _my_ blood."

Boyd shuddered as he smoothly turned the wheel. "I hope I'll never see that again."

Stiles smirked. "That'll learn ya not to go where you're clearly not wanted."

"Yes, yes it will."

The silence that fell then was comfortable as the two friends - for they  _were_ friends despite their differences - indulged in the rarity of mental peace. 

"Duke was looking for you earlier."

Stiles knew the calm couldn't last, and internally sighed at his own acuity. 

"He knew I was going out tonight."

"Yeah, he wasn't mad, just wanted to see you as soon as you got in." The street lamps briefly lit up the dim interior, and Stiles chanced at look at Boyd, noting the tenseness of his shoulders. "Jenny's back."

Stiles' lush mouth thinned with irritation at the news. He thought he would be blessed with a few more months of separation from her. "Whose with her?"

"She came ahead of Ennis and Kali."

At the mention of the only married duo in the pack, Stiles felt something in his stomach drop. "Why are all five gathering? The twin terrors are here with us as well. What's going on?"

Boyd's deep voice seemed to coalesce from the shadows once again filling the car. "I dunno for sure, but something's different about this Assembly."

"What?"

This was to be Stiles' first without his mentor, and he silently cursed whatever ill-fated winds had touched his life. 

"I really don't know, Stiles. That's probably what Duke wanted to talk to you about."

Stiles nodded once, his body brimming with a level of intensity noticably absent just moments earlier.  

By the time Stiles reached the Penthouse Suite where they were staying, his mind was bouncing in ten different directions as he tried to anticipate the upcoming confrontation. And no matter what Boyd said, a confrontation was the only outcome with Jennifer Blake in the mix.

 

 


	2. The Great Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles channels Sherlock Holmes.

"Stiles," the disdain fairly oozed from the syllables of his name, as soon as he cleared the doorway. 

"Jenny," he returned with saccharine politeness, inwardly grinning at the faint moue of distaste crossing her pretty face. She hated being called Jenny, which made it imperative he call her that. There were few who enjoyed her company and most mocked her, but Stiles was the only one brave enough to do so blatantly. 

She sat curled up in the comfortable window seat with pillows stacked around her like a mini-throne, white fingers laced together as she stared at him. "Aren't you fairly licking your lips like the cat who ate the canary. Or, in your case, swallowed it whole."

Stiles smirked then, letting the curl of his upper lip expose his top canine. "And you look gorgeous as always. How many virgins did you have to sacrifice for such clear skin this time?"

Jenny preened, ignoring the buried insult. "Probably as many as you went to your knees for." Dark eyes swept his clubbing outfit. "Or maybe bent over a trash can in the alley."

"So many boys, so little time," he sighed dramatically, clasping his hands to his heart. "Have Kali and Ennis returned from their honeymoon yet? I was remiss in getting them a wedding present and want to make sure to send them a congratulations at the very least."

Loathing flashed across her face for a brief moment before she managed to properly school her expression to studied indifference. Her Sapphic love affair with Kali was an open secret. and she hadn't appreciated being thrown over for the studly wolf, especially since the marriage was a contract instead of a true bond. Kali, for all her faults, was true to her word and had forsaken all others regardless of her personal attachments. Even worse, of course, was that Jenny couldn't be released to another pack, but instead absorbed into their newly joined house. What was Kali's was now Ennis' and vice versa.

Stiles might've had an ounce of sympathy for her if their relationship wasn't so fractured and contentious; so instead he gloried in twisting the knife whenever possible.

"They're traveling here for the Assembly and should be here tomorrow." The words passed through gritted teeth as she fought to hang onto her forced smile. Then a thought occurred to her, and her body loosened and flowed naturally against the soft pillows.

"Deucalion was asking for you earlier and was  _very_  disappointed you weren't available."

She stretched then, arms above her head, which allowed the flowing white sleeve she wore to fall back, exposing her mottled right inner bicep. The blue and black imprint was unmistakably a set of wolf's teeth. "Of course with your absence tonight, I had to satisfy his hunger." Her long eyelashes swept the pinked arches of her porcelain cheeks. "He's showering now."

"I bet he is. He does so hate being  _dirty_.  Good of you to provide a snack for him, but I'll make sure to  _fully_  satiate his appetite when he's done." Stiles seated himself on the leather couch opposite her with a deliberately casual slouch. "I'm sure he'll be  _starving_."  It was utter bollocks of course since Duke didn't swing that way, but the fury lighting Jenny's eyes showed the insults struck true. And there was  _some_  truth to his words since Jenny served Ennis and Kali, while Stiles belonged to Deucalion. He just didn't serve in  _that_  capacity, no matter the rumors to the contrary. It would've been too incestuous for them both since Stiles had come to Deucalion as an infant and the older wolf had overseen his rearing. And whatever Jenny believed - or more accurately  _hoped_  - Duke wouldn't trade Stiles to the married wolves in exchange for her, regardless of her skills.

Their sweetly poisonous conversation filled with subtle barbs could've continued on indefinitely, but the man of the hour himself pushed through the connecting doors, bringing with him the scent of the freshly showered. Despite his blindness, the wolf's keen senses led him directly to the battling duo without aide of his stick, and the stifled smile on his face alerted Stiles to Duke's knowledge of their bickering. Stiles willed himself not to blush, if only because he didn't want Jenny to clue in to his feelings. Without fail, Duke always made Stiles feel like the gawky adolescent he used to be instead of the self-assured man who sat here today.

"How lovely to hear such dulcet tones from the two of you."

The words were a gentle, yet firm reminder to mind their ps and qs. Jenny slid from her seat and presumed to touch Duke's hand as if to lead him to the couch two steps behind him. Stiles rolled his eyes and stayed where he sat because he knew his wolf hated to be coddled more than just about _anything_  in the world. He was born sighted only becoming blinded by a hunter years later, so he still had a sighted person's sensibilities combined with a wolf's senses. Duke was about as helpless as a baby hyena and wasn't shy about letting people know that.

"While I appreciated your helpfulness earlier, Jenny, I do not need it now."

Mortification struck her then, especially at the hated nickname, but she retreated with as much dignity as she could while refusing to look in Stiles' direction.  Duke smoothly seated himself next to Stiles, the length of his thigh warm against Stiles' own, and steepled his fingertips together in a suitably evil pondering pose, the picture only spoiled by the disorderly sandy brown hair dripping water down the sides of his head onto the black t-shirt stretched across his small yet strong shoulders. For a moment, a larger and harder body shape superimposed itself over Duke's, and Stiles blinked in shock when he realized was thinking about his one night stand - one hour stand? - while attending his duties. Praying his body wouldn't betray him, as Duke was even more in-tuned than the average wolf, Stiles sought to wipe the images from earlier. It was an amazing pocket of time, but the real world was calling and Stiles had to answer it. 

"This calling of the Assembly was for one reason and one reason alone - the Hale Pack."

Jenny and Stiles exchanged glances, for once united in their shock as they both knew their history well. The Hale Pack was wiped out nearly fifteen years ago by a hunter clan intent on full-scale genocide. It was considered a tragedy in their world because the Hales were one of the oldest lineages, able to count their ancestors among those who emigrated to America in the seventeenth century when Europe was awash in supernatural blood. 

"But why, Duke?"

The older wolf's craggy face creased for a moment as fleeting sorrow touched him at whatever memory bedeviled him. 

"Rumors of an arisen Alpha of their blood."

Stiles' mouth hung open as he gaped at Duke again. The conflagration and subsequent investigation following the house fire had made it abundantly clear there was no possibility of survivors, as the wolves had crowded down in their bolt hole in the basement, only to find the hunters had magicked them inside with a ring of Wolfsbane circling the property. Of course the authorities who oversaw the investigation were humans unaware of exactly who or what the Hales were, so it was possible they had missed, or failed to differentiate important details which could've changed the verdict. Then he thought of something.

"Who brought you the information?"

"What do you mean?"

"We know the Hales were wiped out because of the hunters who claimed their victory, and we can believe the information because we know the Hales were all in town to celebrate the birth of a pack child. What we  _don't_  know is whether or not to account for  _everyone_  in the house at the time of the fire. So, who was the original source of information back then, and who came to you now?"

"And this is why he's mine, Jenny, and why you'll never do," Deucalion calmly stated, intent on using this opportunity to prove a point to the erstwhile female. Stiles stifled a full-fledged smile at the crestfallen expression stamped clearly across Jenny's face. He knew this was a brief moment of hubris fallen, and savored the momentary victory as it was never good to rest on your laurels with her around. "It was Alan Deaton, both times."

"The Hale Emissary?" 

"The one and the same."

Stiles shifted his weight until his spine pressed fully into the couch and he pulled his legs into his chest as he thought. Emissaries were unassailable in wolven communities, above all but their own laws. This autonomy had drawbacks, of course, as they were blood bound to their packs until either they were released by the current Alpha or through death of the  _entire_  pack as Emissaries could be inherited like so much chattel. It was a necessary evil, of course, so that the word of an Emissary could be trusted by all as they were, by ancient rights, messengers. In modern times their jobs were made much easier with the advent of technologies such as telephones and the internet, but some packs still lived in the outer edges of civilization and required physical contact. 

"Did he ever leave Beacon Hills. I mean,  _after_?"

Deucalion cocked his head as he looked at Stiles inquiringly - it was uncanny how accurate he was at realizing where a person was positioned, which would make people chalk down his blindness to false rumors and nothing more if it weren't for the grayness filming the blue of his eyes. "No, he stayed on in the capacity of town vet. Talia's mother had allowed him schooling so his doctorate is legitimate."

"Is it possible he knew not  _everyone_  perished in the fire and was just waiting for their return for whatever reason?"

"If he did that, why wouldn't he tell anyone?"

Jenny posed the question, obviously desperate to put in her two cents and to forcibly remind the two males she was there. It was a good question, not that Stiles would acknowledge as much since she needed to learn her place.

"The more important question isn't  _why_ , but who."

"Who?" 

"Yeah, Jenny. Who.  _Who_  is this supposed Alpha - to both the Hale legacy and to Deaton? An Emissary doesn't  _lie_."

That was the number one rule about Emissaries. They didn't  _lie_. So for Deaton to have withheld information from  _anyone_  in the beginning meant this Alpha could be a legitimate inheritor of the power because loyalty to his pack came before anything. If that were the case, then his actions in that light wouldn't be a breaking of his vows. It relieved Stiles because he knew the punishment awaiting someone who didn't follow the rules and he wouldn't wish it on  _anyone,_ even Jenny.

"But why come forward  _now_?"

Stiles was startled from the fervency of his thoughts by Duke's hand stroking his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and calmed himself. It would never do to appear anything less than composed, and the Gods knew Stiles could go off on tangents in his mind all night long if he was allowed to. Then inspiration struck.

"This is about the Hale Territory, isn't it?"

Duke's hand slowed then stopped, and a low chuckle rumbled through his powerful chest. "You're on a roll tonight, my pet." There was an edge to his voice that Stiles didn't understand but disregarded, intent on following the thought to its end.

"Nearly fifteen years without an Alpha or a pack tied to the land would make the territory up for grabs to anyone who wanted to claim it. Hell, even an Omega would be able to move in on it without much issue as long as he or she was powerful enough to defend it from all encroachment."

And that was what made werewolves different than humans, more so than biology: they formed symbiotic ties to the land - or cities in some cases - and were highly territorial. The more settled a pack, the more power they amassed, which made the sudden absence of one such a huge vacuum. And Nature, as everyone was aware, hated a vacuum so naturally there would be a rush to fill it. Of course, time to werewolves was somewhat subjective given their longer lifespans, so it didn't surprise Stiles in the least that the land laid fallow until now.

"How many packs are present?"

"What now?"

"How many packs have come to be heard at the Assembly?"

"Three. Four if you're to believe there is a new Hale Alpha."

"How many Emissaries present?"

"Again, three or four depending upon what you believe is true."

"So Deaton will be here?"

"Aiden confirmed his presence an hour ago."

Stiles, being apart of Deucalion's entourage, had an extensive knowledge of the packs in any given area. Since those scattered throughout Beacon Hills County already owned land and hadn't tried to push for expansion, they could be eliminated from the list of wolves vying for it. He widened his scope to the smaller Californian packs who were escaping being absorbed by larger ones or city-bred, and came up with three most likely candidates who would also have Emissaries. 

"Park, Donahue, and Wilson - those are the three who want to claim it."

Duke lifted his hands and clapped sharply. "Well done, my pet, well done."

Stiles loved praise almost as much as he enjoyed solving a puzzle, so he felt warm fuzzies envelop him at so pleasing his wolf. A niggling sense of unease broke through his triumph, however, as a stray thought recalled him to an earlier question he posed to Boyd on the way back.. 

But just as he was opening his mouth to ask, Jenny coughed loudly and in a protracted manner, prompting both males to concentrate on her. Stiles jumped up from his place on the couch and fetched a glass of water for her as Jenny's face was turning an alarming shade of red. By the time he returned, Duke had vacated the living room in response to the ringing of the phone in the connected bedroom, leaving the two alone.

"Are you insane?" Jennifer murmured. Stiles stared at her in confusion while automatically handing her the glass.

"What?"

"For a boy wonder, you're incredibly stupid sometimes."

The bitterness coating her enigmatic words caught Stiles raw as she used a nickname he hadn't heard since he was a child. 

"Jealousy isn't a good color on you," he commented, unbalanced enough to issue a weak insult. 

She apparently concurred because she laughed once, shortly, before gulping down a third of the water. 

"Stiles, you're undeniably smart and intuitive and can make connections at lightning speed, but your biggest weakness is your heart. You really should learn to kill it."

"Like you did?"

Stiles could still remember the time when he'd worshiped the ground she walked on, content to drift in her shadow, until the day...no, no, he wouldn't think of that now. It was in the past where it should stay. 

"Our paths are different, but you know the  _biggest_  difference? I learned to not only cover my ass and my front, but also to  _look up_."

With that said, she plunked down the water on the table near the window, and walked to the door, though not without one last parting salvo. "I follow Kali no matter what she does or where she goes, but I do so with a clear eye to the end result. You, on the other hand, blunder along making brilliant deductions, but never take them to the logical conclusion. Learn to do so, and there won't be any way to stop you."

It wasn't until Duke returned asking where Jenny had gone, that Stiles realized they'd been speaking in the pidgin language they developed when they were younger and hadn't wanted big ears to hear their conversations. 

"Uh, she just left," he shrugged disinterestedly, keen to hide his agitation. "Who was on the phone?"

"Kali and Ennis are close to the city limits, so you should retire to bed as we have an early morning tomorrow." Duke wrinkled his nose. "Oh and Stiles, while I don't mind if you have  _fun_  on your own time, never return to me reeking of a strange wolf again."

Stiles blanched and panicked a little, prostrating himself at Duke's side. "I humbly beg your pardon."

The ensuing silence was tense as he waited to see if he'd be given forgiveness or punishment. When a clawed hand dropped to the back of his neck, lightly scoring the skin, he wilted with relief. 

"We're in new waters now, Stiles, and I need your entire focus on our endeavor. I can trust you, can't I?"

"Always, always," he vowed, fervently kissing Duke's feet.

"Good, now go wash up and get into bed."  _Like a good boy_ went unsaid, but Stiles heard the echo nonetheless and could only feel gratitude that Duke had let his transgression slide. Duke was extremely indulgent with Stiles, he knew, as he'd witnessed others in his same position during some of their travels in Europe, and realized how cushy his life was in comparison. Sure it rankled sometimes that Duke forgot he was no longer the rebellious fourteen year old who thought he knew everything, but it was only to be expected since he was still considered a pup in wolf terms. 

Yet his last thought before he fell asleep, after thoroughly scrubbing himself raw, wasn't of the Assembly, or pack politics, or even Deucalion himself. No, it was of a beautiful wolf kneeling before him for pleasure. 


	3. Don't Make Me Turn This Car Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a seat at the big kid table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - there is some semblance of non-con and sexual douche-baggery so skip if this isn't to your liking. I'm not tagging the story overall, but the chapters as they happen so continue at your own risk.

Frustration and bitterness vied for control in Stiles' heart, but none of his turmoil showed outwardly to the strange wolf currently ranging around the living room. 

When he awoke this morning he was confined to the suite like a child when his pack left for the Assembly. Stiles might've tried to escape and follow, but the red-eyed glare Duke had leveled on him prior to departing was more effective than handcuffs. There would be  _consequences_  should he sneak out, and Stiles wasn't angry enough to push the wolf into demonstrating his power over him.

But the worst part? Jenny wasn't here either.

Apparently he  _still_  wasn't considered learned enough to step out of the shadows of his older counterparts and take his true place at Duke's side, and it rankled, especially as he and Jenny were the only ones qualified enough to speak for their pack. This in turn meant she would be speaking in their stead, leaving Stiles on the sidelines  _again_.

"Boy, you listening to me? I need a drink."

Stiles looked up from his Kindle with a raised brow. This was the first time in six hours the wolf had spoken, though he'd sent enough sidelong glances at Stiles as if sizing him up. 

"Are you speaking to me?"

The wolf coughed a derisive laugh before hunching his shoulders and lowering his head. Stiles noted the nicotine stains on his fingers and the slightly yellowed tinge to his teeth - bitten, not born.

"You're the only  _boy_  in the room."

The emphasis was slight, but there. 

"I see."

" _I see,_ " the beta lisped in a poor attempt at recreating Stiles' slight accent. "You better be seeing to me getting a drink."

It was pitable really, how the wolf tried to puff himself up into a more intimidating figure; Omega for sure, judging by his mannerisms and lack of presence. 

Stiles smiled then, a mesmerizing show of peeking tongue and slick red lips. He knew he was pretty, delicate looking even, despite his lean musculature, but he'd worked hard to overcome the accident of genetics. 

Sinuously he unwound from his position on the couch, slinking over to where the burly wolf stood. "I'm years past the age where most would call me  _boy_."

"From what I hear, you're Deucalion's  _boy_."

Stiles circled him then, eyeing the cheap plaid shirt tucked into worn blue jeans, distressed by actual use rather than fashion. Hired help, for sure. He noted the faded rectangular imprint of a wallet in the left back pocket, and the simple leather belt creased with age encircling the thick waist.

"Hmm, most just call me his catamite, but I guess that word is beyond your purview," he mocked, tucking in behind the man, and fitting his crotch against the beta's buttocks. The wolf grunted and shifted backwards, just enough, to let Stiles know his attentions wouldn't be rejected if he so desired. 

"Cata-what?"

"Catamite is a boy kept for sexual purposes," Stiles defined as he slipped his hands around him to lightly scratch the Omega's stomach through his shirt. "Of course I've outgrown the term since I'm legally an adult, so I guess you can't call me that anymore."

"So, uh, what do I call you?"

Stiles grinned at the skip in the wolf's tone. He knew the guy had started this because he was bored and picking on humans was an Olympic sports for some wolves, but he had picked the wrong person to screw with - literally and figuratively. 

"Hmm, it won't matter because in a second, you'll be wishing for God."

The wolf chuckled lowly. "So what I hear about you  _is_  true: your lips really  _are_ made to suck cock."

"See, I never understood the term, "cocksucking lips", since it's actually the  _mouth_  that provides suction. Cock-pillowing lips would be a better term, I think."

"Huh?"

Silently snorting at less than eloquent response, Stiles slid the tongue from the notches and pulled it from the belt loops slowly, feeling the wolf quiver with anticipation. He was a little taller than the wolf so he didn't have to stand on tip-toe to whisper into his ear: "Close your eyes, Big Boy." 

With a practiced hand he whipped the belt around the beta's throat, placing it so the buckle faced him and he could tighten it as he knocked his knees out from behind. Wolves were without a doubt much stronger than humans - though their strength varied by age, pack hierarchy, and nature - so Stiles had learned to compensate by studying the weaknesses of his opponents and acting accordingly.  The beta tried to struggle, even Change, but Stiles merely pulled him down with his full weight behind it, and the wolf was unconscious by the time he reached the floor. 

"What did Duke say about breaking other people's toys?"

Stiles grinned up at the large male filling the doorway. "Depends on what you mean: his advice for what to do if I get caught, or how to get rid of the evidence so I'm  _not_?" He nudged the wolf on the floor. "Sides, I didn't break him so much as teach him a lesson."

Ennis chuckled. "And here I thought you would've messed up the room like a misbehaving puppy. I guess I owe Kali a hundred bucks, since she said you would probably take your frustrations out on Mark."

"Mark? Oh right."

"Feel better?"

Stiles uncoiled the length of leather from his fist and dropped it on the insensate wolf. "Yeah, actually I do."

"Duke wants you."

"You should know better than to use inferior stock," Stiles chided as he slipped past the massive male. Ennis was one of the largest non-European wolves Stiles had ever seen, the breadth of his shoulders and length of his body directly correlating into a huge nightmare seemingly distilled from the worst of humanity's imaginings of what werewolves looked like and rarely actually were. The difference between born and bitten, he supposed. 

"We needed someone...disposble." 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "And when you go cheaply, this is what happens: a human taking him out. I just don't get why you two don't just bite your own instead of relying on Omegas." In fact, he didn't understand a lot about his pack since all five wolven members were Alphas in their own right, though they still followed Deucalion for the most part. They were the Judge and Jury for the other packs, but surely they deserved their own betas?  It was one question he'd puzzled over for years, but never received a satisfactory answer to, and he'd learned to stop asking. At least directly.

There was more than one way to skin a cat after all.

"Get," Ennis lightly cuffed the back of his head. "You know Duke hates being kept waiting."

Stiles went. 

The door to Duke's bedroom was cracked open, and Stiles took a brief moment to stuff his emotions beneath a carapace of indifference. There was a time and a place for such matters, but not here, not now.

"You wanted to see me?"

Duke was seated on a chair near the door leading out to his private balcony while Kali sprawled fully clothed across the great expanse of his bed, her long black hair fanned out behind her. She was the only wolf he knew who was consistently in her half-form, which made finding shoes for her a bitch since the claws on her feet were too thick. Like Ennis, she was a bitten wolf, but didn't have the same finite control over herself, so she wasn't often seen in public, especially during the day.

"Yes, we have much to discuss."  

Stiles didn't take his eyes of Kali as she rolled over and propped her chin on her fisted hand, red eyes gleaming as she stared at Stiles. Of the five Alphas, she was the spookiest in his opinion, as she always seemed to just  _know_  what a person or wolf thought or felt at any given time. He often wondered if she was bitten for that very reason - a large majority of the Changed had  _other_  abilities not accounted for by the werewolf strain. 

"I've need of you in a new capacity, my pet." Stiles finally felt comfortable enough to switch his gaze to Duke and he saw the older male looked oddly amused.

"Is this why I wasn't allowed to follow you?"

A gentle smile touched his lips. "Always thinking, aren't you?" Duke shifted so his legs were propped up on the matching ottoman. "Today's Assembly was quite unsatisfactory as I was not entirely convinced of Alpha Hale's  _or_  Emissary Deaton's veracity."

"They lied to you?"

"Not exactly, but it did feel as if there were holes in their stories."

"How so?"

"Peter, the new Alpha, claimed he and three other members of his family had escaped the blaze by pure coincidence - they weren't present at the time - and escaped to New York anonymously because they were afraid the hunters might come after them to finish the job."

Stiles stroked his chin as he mulled this over. It made sense because a decimated pack wouldn't stand their ground to fight as it was better to run so they lived another day to lick their wounds and regroup. Revenge was a dish best served cold after all.

"And Deaton's part?"

"He said he stayed in Beacon Hills because it was his home, and he didn't feel right about leaving the land untended."

"Was he blood-bound to the original Alpha?"

"Of course. The Hales followed the old ways."

"But not now, to the new one. That's why you're uneasy with them both because if Deaton really recognized Peter as the true Alpha, he would've already sworn his fealty." He thought a moment more. “Did he bring any of his pack?”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you had the Sight, my pet. And no, he didn't. Peter just traveled with Deaton.”

And that was unusual because Alphas didn't normally travel without at least one or two Betas, even to peace talks. While Hill Valley itself was a neutral zone, any roads leading _to_ it were not, and perfect places for ambushes, especially from ambitious packs wanting land.

“Exactly how much did they follow the old ways? Did they fight for the power or was it transferred?”

The distinction was important because it might shed light on Peter's nature. It galled Stiles he was forced to rely on second hand impressions rather than judging the wolf for himself.

“Talia was the first wolf in the history of the Hale pack to have the power passed to her – the old Alpha, her father, bent his head to her and let her rip out his throat.”

“Was Peter meant to be Alpha after her?”

“Uncertain because though Peter was her younger brother, she had three children at the right age to be groomed for power.”

“But why _now_? Why did the Hales come back _now_? They had plenty of time to return once the hunters left their territory, even supposing one of the children was young.” 

“And this is exactly why I want to send you to Beacon Hills, Stiles. I need you to be my eyes and ears, because there's definitely something not right about the situation.”

“What?”

“The Assembly will be held for a week while we determine if we will accept Peter as Alpha.”

“Determine him Alpha? I thought Alpha might makes right.”

“Ordinarily, yes, but this is a... _special_...situation.”

Stiles wanted to ask what Duke meant, but knew when to press and more importantly, when _not_ to, so he sought to change the direction of the conversation.

“Am I going as your Emissary?”

“No, you and Jenny -”

“Jenny's involved too?” Stiles dared to interrupt, and ignored Kali's warning growl. Duke just stared at him impassively until he dropped his eyes with a muttered “Sorry.”

“It would be strange for you to go in alone, so Jenny will help provide cover.”

“Strange? Exactly who am I going to be?”

“Stiles Blake, transfer student into Beacon Hills High.”

And for perhaps the first time in his life, Stiles was left speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it absurd how often Hollywood casts twenty-something actors to portray high-school aged teens so I couldn't help but write it into my own story. There will be elements similar to the first three seasons (that we've seen so far) of TW, but keep in mind my timeline is slightly different than the show's.


	4. The Clothes Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a makeover - or is it a makeunder?

"No."

"Yes."

"No, and I mean it."

"Don't matter if you mean it or not, I'm going to do it."

"Touch one hair on my head, woman, and I'll cut you."

"Don't be petulant."

"Don't be reckless.”

"You're such a girl about your hair."

"You're the girl."

"Yes, I am, and that doesn't change the fact I'll hogtie you if I have to, but I'm shaving your head."

"I'm heavier and stronger."

"I'm faster and wilier."

"Why do you have to do it?"

"Well, at least you  _sound_  like a teenager, all whiny and bitchy so you shouldn't have too much trouble passing for one. You're too distinctive Stiles; we need to change your look."

"Whaddya mean, "too distinctive?""

"You are too confident to be an eighteen year old boy.”

“Usually not a problem for me since I'm not actually eighteen.”

"It is when you're trying to blend in as a teenager."

"I blend in!" He looked at himself, at the face that fooled so many people into thinking he was younger than his actual age.

"No, no you really don't. Even when you're quiet, people know you're there. They might _ignore_  you, but they're always aware of you. We need to change that."

Stiles frowned and stared at what she convinced him to wear. He guessed he could understand what Jenny meant, but damnit..."Why plaid? I  _hate_  plaid."

"Don't be snobby just 'cause you're used to wearing threads costing more than some people's yearly salary." Stiles thought he heard a "spoiled brat," muttered under her breath but he couldn't be sure.

"Look, I really don't care if you succeed or fail here. I mean, I  _thought_ you wanted to help Duke, but obviously if you can't hack it..."

He knew what she was doing, and knew she knew he knew, but he still could feel it work on his competitive side. Stiles  _hated_  being shown up, especially in front of Duke. He'd been sent here for a specific reason, though why high school was beyond him, but he knew Duke had a plan. He  _always_  had a reason for everything he did, which was why he was always ten steps ahead of everyone else.

His "Fine," was grudging, but even grudgingly given consent was all she needed to run with her "Makeover Stiles" project a go. Or maybe it was “make under,” since she was taking away his hair, giving him brand new ugly clothes, and turning him into...staring in the mirror and seeing only an inch of fuzz on his head...the stereotypical dweeb from those teen rom-com movies.

“Perfect. Well, except for one thing -” She rummaged through the drawer next to her and pulled out a pair of black plastic rimmed glasses. “Here, put these on to hide your eyes.”

Stiles scoffed. “I'm not actually blind and it would be suspicious if someone were to get a hold of them and notice those aren't prescription.”

“It's in style.”

“Yes, but the rest of me isn't, at least the way you're dressing me”

Jenny giggled and Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“You're taking way too much pleasure out of this, _Mom_.”

“Oh please, I'm not old enough to be your mom. I'm Aunt Jenny, your mom's younger and cooler sister.”

Disgruntled and annoyed, Stiles pushed away from the bathroom counter and stalked out into the small nearly bare living room of the rented house they were staying in. He resented being here with _her_ and it made it worse she was running Duke's op as if he were still a child in truth.

“Fucking grow up, Stiles! You wanted to run with the big dogs, and now you're getting your chance.”

“I don't even know what the fuck we're doing here.”

Jenny sighed, scrubbing a hand through her long dark hair. “Just think about it, Stiles. An Alpha comes to an Assembly without any Betas – with an Emissary held by the land, not by blood. What does that tell you?”

“He...needs to recruit.” Stiles wanted to smack himself on the forehead. “And regardless of time away, he'll go where he's most comfortable: Hale Territory.”

“Who's most likely to survive the Change?”

“The young and healthy.”

There was no guarantee, of course, living through the bite, but people in good health and a decent amount of years left tended to do better than the older and infirm for whatever reason. And it always helped for the human to actively court the Bite, or have some type of personal relationship with the wolf biting them; those taken in violence tended not to survive the Change as if their bodies rejected it like a parasite. And those who did, well, they struggled mightily with their “gift” and their emotions; most packs believed putting these types down was the best policy so the ferals wouldn't betray their kind to humans, or bring hunters down on them.

“And where do the perfect crop of baby wannabe werewolves congregate?”

“The local high school.”

Jenny gingerly sat in the lumpy old chair they'd bought from a Good Will on their way to Beacon Hills. “We need a legitimate reason to be here, Stiles, and the town is insular enough that newcomers are going to be suspicious, especially for a new Alpha wanting to reestablish himself. Duke needs eyes and ears here, and going to Beacon High is the only way for us to camouflage our intent.”

Stiles stopped in front of the big picture window across from her seat, staring out to the front yard, though he didn't notice how the late summer sun slid across the grass and gave the dead weeds an almost golden color.

“When does school start?”

“In three weeks, so it gives us enough time for the pack's skin scent to fade, and for you to find a part time job at either the diner or the coffee house on the corner.”

“What, why?”

“Because you are Stiles Blake of Cook County, Georgia who's biggest dream is to go to college, but you know you'll have to work hard for every dime since we're too poor for me to give you the money, and loans or grants only stretch so far.”

“I guess that explains the piece of crap Volvo parked out in the driveway?”

“Not like we can afford better.”

Stiles nodded and sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. His head felt weird without hair, and he felt uncomfortable dressed in the skinny jeans and plaid over-shirt.

“I just hope this works, _Aunt_ Jenny.”

 


	5. The Dog Days of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a new friend.

In retrospect, their meeting couldn't have happened any more fortuitously, except Stiles didn't actually arrange for it to happen that way, though he'd never admit it to Jenny.

He was driving on the main drag through Beacon Hills the day before school started - and seriously how the fuck did he get stuck with high school when he didn't even go the  _first_  time? - silently cursing the Mayberryness of the town, when a dog stepped out in front of the Volvo. Had he been paying attention instead of sulking, he would've seen it, but he wasn't so he slammed into the damn thing. Fortunately for them both, he was only going 20 mph, so the dog wasn't killed, but even Stiles could see he was injured enough to warrant a vet.  _Unfortunately_ , however, the only vet he knew in town was Deaton, and he didn't want to venture into the Emissary's territory just yet. 

Stiles pulled to the side of the street, and cautiously looked both ways before crossing to the center where the mutt laid in the street with a defeated air, his mangy head up just enough for him to display impressively white teeth in a deep growl. 

"Hey buddy, I'm not going to touch you. No skin off my nose if you want to stay here and get run over."

The dog's muddy green eyes twitched past him as a bike came skidding up to them and then dropped with a hurried air. Stiles glanced over his shoulder at a floppy haired brunette who didn't look at him as he brushed past.

"Ohh, you poor baby, are you okay?"

"Uh, is this your dog? You really should keep him on a leash."

The boy - couldn't be older than seventeen - glared up at him under heavy bangs. "No, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have compassion. Are you the one who hit him?"

"Yeah, but in my defense, he just walked in front of the car."

"Dude, I saw what happened. You weren't paying attention and just clonked right into him."

Stiles shifted uneasily, wondering what the feeling welling up in his chest was. With faint astonishment, he realized it was the shadow of guilt. The boy's earnest expression was quite provoking.

"Uh, so you gonna do something about him?"

The boy glared and then switched his gaze to the still growling dog, tanned hand already reaching out to let him sniff it. Stiles rolled his eyes and waited for the guy to get bitten, but to his surprise the dog's growling ceased and a muted whine took its place.

"See boy, I'm not going to hurt you. Shhh, I know you're hurting, but I promise I'm gonna help. Let him smell you."

It took a second for Stiles to realize the boy was talking to him. "What?"

"He's hurt and feeling cornered because we're strangers. Let him smell you and get used to your scent. He needs to feel safe."

Growing up with wolves had naturally precluded having pets, not to mention how much he and Duke moved around in the early years, so Stiles wasn't used to dogs, feral or not. Yet there was something oddly compelling about the kid, and Stiles found himself holding his breath as he cautiously held his hand out, expecting any second to feel teeth embedded in his skin. He knew what feral wolves were like, after all, and dogs were their distant cousins so it stood to reason this one would react aggressively; instead all he felt was slick wetness of a long pink tongue lashing his hand.

"See, Lucky isn't so bad."

"Lucky?"

"Yep. He's damn lucky to only have a few injuries instead of death, and to have found a new owner."

"You're taking him?"

"Who said anything about me?"

Stiles started backing away then, hands up in protestation. He didn't even care if he was technically in the middle of the street, though no other cars had gone by in the past few minutes.

"No, no, no way, man. My Al-aunt would kill me!"

"Aunt?"

"Uh yeah, my Aunt Jenny. I live with her."

The boy judged him silently with dark brown eyes, then a sunny smile revealed slightly crooked teeth, which matched his slightly crooked jawline. "We still need to get him to the Doc's, then I'm sure we can talk about what to do with Lucky here. He's obviously a good dog."

"The Doc's?" Suspicion began forming in the pit of his stomach. What were the odds?

"Yeah, Dr. Deaton's. I'm his vet tech - well, not  _really_  since I'm still in high school and I haven't had the schooling yet, but I might as well be."

"Uh, okay," Stiles blinked at the barrage of words. "I don't really have any money - in fact I just got turned down at both the diner and the coffee house for a job."

"Don't worry about it. Dr. D is really good about working out the money thing, and if it's a stray dog, he'll do it for free. Of course, it's always better if strays get adopted after. We just need a ride to his office..." he trailed off, with another imploring look under dark lashes. 

Stiles felt himself caving, which was as novel a feeling as guilt. He was rarely around humans and wondered if puppy dog like eyes was contagious because now he had  _two_  sets of eyes looking at him the same way.

"Since you have a bike, I guess I'm driving him to the vet's. But you're picking his ass up and putting him in the backseat."

The kid nodded eagerly, then chuckled after he gently lifted the dog's legs so he could scoop its negligible weight into his arms. Even Stiles could see the bony protrusions of its ribs sticking out through the matted and dirty coat. 

"What's funny?"

"Lucky's a girl."

"Huh."

Shrugging away the incidental detail, Stiles quickly recrossed the street to his car and opened up the back, wishing he had something to lay down on the seats. It wasn't  _really_  their car, of course, but Stiles liked to take care of things when entrusted with it, which included keeping a crappy little car clean at all times. 

"Dude, I'm sorry she's gonna mess up your seats."

"Just lay her down," he instructed crisply, displeased the kid could sense his turmoil. The teen smiled again, then gently placed Lucky down, making sure to strap her down with the middle seatbelt.

"Uh, just follow me on the bike, okay? But don't go too fast," the kid anxiously instructed as he walked backwards towards where he ditched his bike. Stiles shook his head at the imbecilic nature of teenagers and kept his eyes peeled for any cars. 

Following him on the bike wasn't hard, as the vet's office was two left turns away from the accident site, and Stiles drew in a deep breath before opening the car door. Three weeks had passed since his last interaction with any wolf, and Jenny's magic was faint enough it wouldn't stain his aura or essence in any detectable way. Of course Stiles didn't know what Deaton's gift was - all Emissaries had them, which was what separated them from Sparks - yet he thought it unlikely the vet had any which would tell who Stiles really was. 

"What's your name? I realized biking over here that I hadn't even asked your name."

"Uh, it's Stiles. Stiles Blake." The name tasted wrong in his mouth as Duke had never thought it important to give him a patronym, so he'd always just been "Stiles." Plus it was Jenny's assumed identity, and he really wasn't happy about their connection.

"I'm Scott McCall," the friendly teen grinned, and put out his hand. Stiles stared at it a moment, then realized he was supposed to shake it. Flushing a little at the faux pas he hoped the other boy wouldn't notice, Stiles tentatively gripped it, confused when the hand turned into a fist and his knuckles were bumped instead.

"Dude, you going to BHH?"

"Uh where?"

"Beacon Hills High."

"Yeah, I'm a senior."

"No way! Same here, maybe we'll have classes together.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles hadn't even checked his schedule, leaving it up to Jenny to set it up. He really wasn't interested in his education since this wasn't real anyway. “But aren't you forgetting something?” He pointed to the backseat. “Don't think you're getting out of relocating Lucky.”

No, the dog, damnit, the _dog_.

Scott grinned triumphantly as if he thought Stiles might actually take the mongrel, then somehow maneuvered himself into taking her out as gently as he put her in; Stiles could almost marvel at the delicacy of his motions. 

“See that side door? It's the back entrance and will help us avoid Mrs. Clarkson.”

“Mrs. Clarkson?”

“Yeah, that's her Toyota next to your car. I try to avoid her and let Dr. D handle her and her _sick cat_.”

Stiles bit his lip because he didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know. Yet...”What's weird about a lady and her sick cat? Or is that a euphemism for something else?”

“She definitely has a cat with her, only its very much dead and stuffed, so that's probably why Mr. Whiskers isn't eating or drinking for her right now.”

A startled laugh slipped out, and Stiles immediately scowled at the back of Scott's head. Laughing _at_ humans was okay, but laughing _because_ of them? Unacceptable.

“Why does she carry around a stuffed cat?”

Stiles didn't know how he knew, especially since he couldn't see Scott's face, but he just _knew_ the kid had a sympathetic expression on his face.

“Her husband died a few months ago, and she kinda went, you know, in the head. No clue where she got the cat, but she showed up with it one day and Dr. D actually took her words seriously and saw to Mr. Whiskers. She comes by every Wednesday like clockwork.”

“So why don't you wanna see her?”

“I don't ever know what to say, you know? I knew Mr. Clarkson – he was my third grade teacher – and he was a nice guy. She always talks about him like he's still here instead of in Beacon Hills Cemetery.” He stopped at the small door. “Open for me?”

They got inside and Stiles saw Deaton's territory for the first time. If he hadn't already had insider knowledge to his true origins, he would've been able to guess just by the many different labeled jars neatly stacked up against the back wall of the exam room Scott brought them into. While he was still learning herbs and their uses, he did recognize a majority of them, including Wolfsbane.

Interesting.

“Oh don't worry, none of that is harmful.”

“Huh?”

Scott had laid Lucky on the metal table situated in the middle of the room, and was standing back staring at him staring at the display.

“Dr. D is a true vet, went to vet school and all, but he also believes in homeopathic remedies, says that sometimes Mother Nature knows what she's doing and we should just let her do her work.”

Yeah, definitely sounded like a druid.

“Cool.”

“Yeah, it is. I mean, I believe in Science and medicine too, ya know, but there's a lot we don't really know about things, so I think it's good to use both approaches.”

Stiles wondered exactly how much Scott knew; it would stand to reason Deaton would have an apprentice. “So you've been working with the doctor for a while?”

“Kinda. It started my Freshman year when I volunteered for a Pet Drive for extra credit in a class, and I really liked it so I kept on pestering Dr. D until he agreed to hire me. During the summers I work every day, but when school starts, I'm only here on the weekends so I can stay up academically and not lose my place on the Lacrosse team.”

“Lacrosse?” Stiles was a little taken aback to find an East Coast tradition in a small hill town.

“Yeah, it's this awesome stick and ball game invented by the Native Americans back in the day.”

“What position to you play?”

There was a strange quality to the silence that fell between them, and Stiles took his eyes off cataloging the herbs, to look at Scott. The teenager was flushed pink and had his head ducked in embarrassment.

“I, uh, don't really play. I'm a bench warmer 'cause of my asthma. It's pretty bad.”

“Why try out then?”

“I try to improve every year, which I do, but I just don't have the stamina. The only worse player is Greenburg.” The interplay of bone and muscle was interesting as he seemingly shrugged with his whole body in studied nonchalance. “All my friends play, and it's the best way to hang out with them.”

Stiles understood the words coming out of his mouth, if by definition and not meaning. It was exceedingly strange to him for Scott to spend his time busting his balls trying to improve in something he already knew he wouldn't be able to, and all for the benefit of spending time with his friends. 

“I don't do sports,” Stiles offered in lieu of something else to say. He wasn't sure how to interact with this alien being – his time was usually spent studying with Iolanta, training with Boyd, or being at Duke's beck and call. Just “hanging out” was a foreign concept so it wasn't like he could speak to that part, and having never actually spent long periods of time with humans had apparently left him woefully unprepared for conversing with them on a long term basis. Idle chit-chat was never his forte.

“That's cool, I mean, not everyone is athletic. I'm sure you'll find something else you're good at. Uh, what did you like to do for fun at your last school?”

“I was home-schooled,” Stiles replied, the almost-lie ready on his lips. It wasn't exactly untrue, as he did have tutors at whatever place he and Duke called home, but magical lessons and werewolf history wasn't something Scott would understand.

Or he might, if he was Deaton's. 

Scott seemed to pick up on his unease again, and thankfully changed the subject.

“Okay, well, if you don't mind leaving Lucky here, I'll make sure Dr. D looks at her as soon as possible. If you'll give me your contact info, I'll call you once he's done his eval so you know what'll happen to her. And you probably should ask your aunt if its okay to have a dog.”

“Dude,” Stiles chastised as he shook his head at the irrepressible teen. Scott merely shot him another sunny smile, and Stiles found himself digging out his cell to give him the number. 

“Hey, if you want, tomorrow we can meet at the front entrance before school starts and I could show you around. It sucks coming to a new place and not knowing anyone or where to go.”

“Uh yeah, that'd be great.”

“Awesome! So, I'll call you later if there are any problems with Lucky, and then I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure, okay, yeah.”

Apparently he picked up more than a four-legged stray this afternoon, and one possibly connected to Deaton on a more supernatural level, which would require surveillance on both Scott and the vet. Stiles smiled slowly as he jauntily walked back to his car.

He had good news to report to Duke after all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole the meet-cute moment between Scott and Allison (I don't really count the pencil giving one in class since they didn't really talk) to give it to Stiles, but I did it for two reasons: I tried to avoid having Scott and Stiles become friends, but it was too weird in my headcanon, so this happened; and the second - whatever happened to the dog Allison hit? I mean, I know it was the only reason she and Scott struck up the conversation and he saw her naked back, but still. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DOG? You literally never hear another word about the poor thing. This is my answer.


	6. Don't Let School Interfere With Your Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' first day of high school - he doesn't get paid enough for this. Oh wait, he doesn't get paid at all.

Jenny knew he wasn't a morning person so she was surprisingly quiet when waking him, leaving him a large hot black cup of coffee on the table for breakfast. Since she was the new substitute teacher, she gave him a ride and obligingly let him off at the corner around the block from school so no one would see them together. The school authorities knew they were related, but Jenny figured a teenaged Stiles wouldn't want to be seen associating with her, and acted accordingly. Stiles for the most part wasn't really aware this early, so he shrugged and hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder before trudging to the entrance where a nervously jiggling Scott stood waiting.

"Dude! I thought you'd never get here! Did you walk? I coulda rode my bike to your house and we coulda come together." Scott rummaged in his pocket and produced a pen. "Also, here's a pen if you need one. Just in case you didn't bring one, or forgot to bring one."

Stiles put up a hand in self-defense against Scott's well-meaning blather, and grimaced. "Are you usually this hyper in the morning? Jesus, kid." He automatically curled his fingers around the pen Scott pressed into his hand. "Uh, thanks." 

Scott gave him the same smile from yesterday, the one that seemed to say he understood, even if Stiles had no idea what exactly Scott understood.

"Dude, sorry. I like mornings as they feel like new beginnings. No matter what bad things happened the night before, there's always the morning to look forward to."

Stiles dropped his hand to stare at the teenager in disbelief. Was he for  _real_?

"So...not that this is awkward or anything, but what classes do you have?"

Stiles still hadn't checked his schedule, so it was easier to just find the paper and push it at Scott in hopes of shutting him up for a moment. Scott took it gleefully and looked it over, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

"Whoa, you have a heavy load. I guess you're smart, huh? Oh man, Calc AB  _and_  Advanced Physics? Dude, sucks to be you."

"Why?"

"Well, Calc is taught by Coach Finstock and Physics by Mrs. Argent."

The name Argent was better than a shot of adrenalin to the heart and woke Stiles from his self-induced stupor. It could be a coincidence for a teacher to have the same last name as a prominent hunter family, yet Stiles didn't believe in coincidences, especially in a town under werewolf protection.

"Mrs. Argent is a hardass?"

"She's  _scary_. Like  _scary_ _scary_. She looks at you with these pale eyes as if she can read your  _soul_ _._ It's super freaky."

Stiles mentally scanned his Hunter Index for the description of crazy scary eyes and drew a blank. Though the Argents were traditionally a matriarchal clan, most of their women were wiped out in a feud a few years back, so this one must be from a minor branch instead.  "What's her first name?"

"Uh, why would I know that?"

 _Because it pays to collect information on everyone, Scott Horatio McCall son of Melissa Elena Ramirez and Mark Anthony McCall. You never know when you might need to use it._ Stiles just shrugged instead, vowing to put his investigative skills to good use as soon as possible. "Who's Coach Finstock?"

Scott's laughter didn't help. The first bell rang before Stiles could press him harder, and Scott snorted as he led him to his first class. "I'm gonna be down the hall so I'll meet you here after the next bell. You somehow managed to score a free period right afterward so I'll show you where the library is since its on my way to Chem."

Stiles made his way to the back corner where one desk remained unfilled, though there were three boys in the surrounding seats. As one they stared at him with disconcerting stillness when he approached it.

“Can't sit there.”

“Why not?”

“It's taken.”

Stiles made a show of looking around. “Don't see anyone else and their name isn't on it.”

“It's saved. Go sit somewhere else.”

Now Stiles had two choices: he could continue to anger these humans and force them into a confrontation or he could back off and play the meek nerd he was attempting to portray. It was hard for him to rein in his instinctively aggressive response - he _was_ raised by wolves after all - but some sense of preservation kicked in. It would defeat his purpose here in Beacon Hills by drawing attention to himself, so Stiles ducked his head and shuffled away to the beat of their satisfied laughter.

A few seconds later, Stiles forgot any burning resentment when the _wolf_ strolled into the classroom like he owned it. He was lean and rangy, easily six-two or six-three, dressed in fitted jeans and dark t-shirt, with a sly grin turning up his thin pink lips. Objectively speaking, his curly blond hair and blue eyes were attractive, the symmetry of his face speaking to good genes, yet it was the ineffable _something else_ that turned him from cute into fuckable.

It was one of the many blessings of the bite.

“Hnngh, Isaac got _hot_ over the summer,” one girl whispered to her seat-mate when the boy in question walked past.

“ _That's_ Isaac Lahey, the gravedigger's son? Damn, I don't remember him looking so lickable.”

Stiles absently filed away the information unwittingly spread by the girls a few rows over from him, and turned to watch as Isaac sauntered down the aisle to the seat Stiles was forced to vacate. The other boys no longer loomed so threateningly, but seemed to almost pander to Isaac as he lounged at his desk, reminding him of puppies gamboling around the feet of an older dog.

Or lower-ranked wolves interacting with higher-ranked ones, though the three teens were just that, human boys. Did they _know_ what Isaac was?

“Take a picture it lasts longer,” one of Isaac's acolytes sneered, catching Stiles' attention.

Isaac raised his head to stare at Stiles as well, his nostrils flared subtly as he tested the air. Stiles wanted to reach over and smack the young wolf upside the head for being so obvious, and wondered briefly what the hell his Alpha was thinking to let a newly turned wolf loose among the student population. It was extremely irresponsible for Hale to allow him to return to school so soon; it was standard procedure to take the Changed and keep them secluded from any who weren't Pack for a series of months, until they could control themselves without needing to draw on the Alpha's power.

None of his emotional responses to his thoughts bled through, however, and the wolf lost interest, turning his head away to make some comment that made his entourage laugh raucously. Stiles supposed it was at his expense and fought the urge to roll his eyes out of his head at the inane bullshit of being a human teenager. It probably wasn't the right attitude to take, so he dropped his eyes and turned away.

The rest of the hour flew by uneventfully and Stiles was glad to leave the classroom behind, pleasantly surprised Scott was standing outside waiting for him as promised.

“So how was class?”

“Boring. I mean, we're reading _Heart of Darkness_ as the first unit. I've seen the movie, why do I need to read the book?”

Scott laughed, clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder as he steered him through the bustling hallways.  
“I ask myself that question every day. What the hell will I learn here that'll even remotely be useful in the quote unquote real world? I mean, I know I need good grades to get into a decent college, but how much will I really use Chemistry?”

 _A lot actually_ , Stiles silently replied. _It's always handy to know what elements work together for a really big boom. Magic is fun and all, but sometimes it's better not to leave a supernatural trace_. He didn't speak his true thoughts and merely agreed.

The library was half-way across campus and on the second floor. He stared at the meager offerings with a dubious look on his face that Scott laughed at.

“Dude, it's a library, not the entrance to Hell or anything.”

“Mr. McCall, do stop loitering in the doorway and come in with your young friend.”

A third voice preceded an older lady, incongruously dressed in leggings and a large oversized shirt. Stiles had seen girls wearing similar outfits, but it looked odd on her, especially with her iron-gray curls and pearl-encrusted bifocals.

“Hi Mrs. Lawson. How's Skippy?”

She beamed. “Alan is a godsend. Skippy hasn't been this spry since he was a kitten.”

“That's cool. Oh, Mrs. Lawson, this is Stiles. Stiles this is Mrs. Lawson. She's the town librarian; during the morning she works here and in the afternoons she's at the Beacon Hills Public Library.”

Stiles nodded politely in her direction. “Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

Discerning blue eyes peered at him, and he suddenly wondered if the glasses were actually prescription. “Stiles, is it? Stiles -”

“Blake.”

“Any relation to Ms. Jennifer Blake, the new substitute?”

“Uh, yeah, my aunt.”

The warning bell rang then, startling Scott. “I gotta run to my next class and I won't be able to take you to your next few classes. Mrs. Lawson, could you help him out? He's new and doesn't know where the classrooms are.”

The sharp almost suspicious look faded from her face when she turned her gaze on Scott, and she smiled beatifically. “Of course, Mr. McCall, the least I could do. The least I could do.”

“Cool. Dude, we have the same lunch period, so wanna meet up at the cafeteria? I'll show you what you can eat, what you shouldn't, and what to avoid on pain of death.”

Stiles, who hadn't taken his eyes off the strange librarian, said absently, “Sure, see you then.”

Mrs. Lawson swung away abruptly once Scott's footsteps faded and seated herself behind the small desk situated near the door. She waved at him regally.

“If you're here for free period, sign in and then take a seat at one of the desks. You're allowed to do what you will except leave, unless it's to go to the boys' room.” She pointed at the registry lying open on her desk, then rummaged through her top drawer and brought out a small map. “This should help you get around campus too, Mr. Blake.”

“Stiles, please. No one calls me Mr. Blake.”

“No, I bet they don't,” she murmured back, her head cocked at an odd angle as she considered him again. “Are you going to take this?”

He realized she was still holding out the map and reluctantly stepped closer to her, taking the rectangular paper from her hand. He noticed her hand wasn't spotted with age, in fact looked quite young compared to her face, but didn't say anything.

Ignoring the butterflies setting up house in his gut, he took Scott's pen from his pocket and signed his name on the lined page of the book. He made sure to use large block letters that looked like nothing of his normal handwriting; there was something strange going on here, and it would pay not to leave a trace of himself if he could help it, which would include any hairs or body fluids.

It was going to be a very long period, he could already tell.

By the time lunch came around, Stiles was more than ready to leave the school and never come back, Duke's plans notwithstanding. He'd been caught between rampaging hordes less bloodthirsty than the faculty at Beacon Hills High, and these were the _humans_.

Mrs. Argent was a harsh taskmaster who demanded perfection from her class, and also tested everyone who came in to see if they were werewolves. The pretty purple flower incense she kept on her desk would be innocuous to anyone not of the canid persuasion – though if she continued to use the concoction throughout the year, she'd give even her human students aconite poisoning, except he had the sneaking suspicion she wouldn't care. He'd never met such a cold icy personality before and was extremely wary of her pale gaze landing on him too often. She'd evidently been teaching here for two years and he was the first new student to enroll in that time, so he was quite obviously put on her radar. He needed to learn her name and history fucking right now because he would have to use the information sooner than later; she was a fanatic if he'd ever met one, and despite whatever else was going on, he had no intention of letting _anyone_ , much less an _Argent_ stick their nose into werewolf business.

Coach Finstock was another human he would pay to avoid if only because he was truly worried the insanity was catching. Between not getting any students' names rights – including three of his own players – and constantly berating someone named “Greenburg” who didn't actually appear to exist, Stiles was quite sure Calculus was the last thing on the man's mind. Today's lesson seemed to revolve around the history of male castration, complete with pictures, though thankfully they were of dogs and horses.

Scott was waiting for him by the cafeteria as promised, a large smile on his face.

“You made it!”

“You weren't kidding about Mrs. Argent or your Coach. I kinda wish I could transfer out of their classes.”

Scott made a sympathetic sound even as he steered him into the noisy lunchroom with a light touch on his elbow.

“Unfortunately we're kinda short of teachers right now so you're stuck with those two. The last two years we've had a rash of animal attacks and two teachers died. Three more just uprooted and moved, saying it was too dangerous to live here.”

“Who were the teachers?”

“Mr. Harris, he taught Chem and _no one_ was sorry to see him leave. Mr. Westover who taught History, and then Ms. Campbell who taught AP Physics. In fact, Mrs. Argent took over her class.”

 _I bet she did_ , _but how much of it was voluntarily?_

The line they stood in was long and moved slowly, giving Stiles a chance to covertly look over the student population present in the room. He immediately noticed Isaac Lahey sitting with two people he didn't recognize as they weren't the same boys who surrounded him earlier in class. In fact, one wasn't a boy at all, but a blonde female in leather. He didn't have wolf-sight to narrow the distance between them, so he wasn't able to pick up any details about her other than she had long hair and wore red lipstick. The male seated next to her had a sly smile.  _Was that where Isaac learned his smugness?_

“That's Erica Reyes and Matt Daehler”

“Huh?”

Scott's chuckle brought Stiles' attention back to him. “You were looking at them pretty hard, Dude.”

Stiles allowed a blush to rise in his cheeks and ducked his head a little as if bashful. “The chick, she's kinda, you know, hot.”

“Yeah, no. She's so totally off limits you can't even believe. The dude next to her, Matt, is her boyfriend, and he doesn't like anyone touching what belongs to him. And Isaac, well, he'll back up whatever Matt wants.”

Turning away from the trio was hard with speculation running rampant through him mind, but Stiles needed to be circumspect and couldn't be if he was eyeballing them. They'd finally reached the actual food buffet and the selections were surprisingly fresh-looking and nothing like he'd been led to expect. Of course, most of his expectations about high school food was based on shitty teen movies he watched with Boyd, so...

“You can thank Lydia Martin and Jackson Whitmore.”

“What?”

“Those two - “ Scott pointed in the opposite direction towards a table where a lovely redhead sat with a mirror held in front of her face as she checked her makeup. Next to her was a dirty-blond with cheekbones Stiles instantly lusted over, chatting to a larger dark-haired boy. “- are kids of the two richest men in town, and Lydia is Class President who decided to give us “better food for a better future.””

“Why does that sound like a campaign slogan?”

“Because it is. It was hers when she ran for President. Jackson's her Veep.”

“Apparently she keeps her promises.”

“And then some,” Scott muttered darkly, his eyes falling to the ground. Stiles hadn't known the boy long enough to know if this sullen behavior was typical, but his face was not well-suited for frowns. Uncomfortable with his thought, Stiles sought a distraction for them both as they paid for their food.

“Where we gonna sit?”

Scott looked up then. “I was – ah – thinking we could go outside? It's a nice day.”

“Sure,” Stiles agreed easily, hiding his frustration at not being able to covertly watch the wolf table. “Why not, sounds like a good plan.”

Of course, famous last words are famous last words for a reason.


	7. Didn't Your Mama Ever Teach You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the Terrible Threesome and perhaps gains insight into the Hale Pack.

Wolves – at least those in the wild – were a strictly hierarchical society, set up with a mated Alpha pair, a few betas, and the odd Omega or two at the bottom. They weren't just any old group, of course, but also a family unit since the mated pair's pups often made up the makeup of the pack. The idea that wolves mated for life was romantic fantasy for humans, and yet a bit of a misnomer because the Alpha male or female could be challenged at any time, and should they lose said challenge, the remaining Alpha would then mate with the victor. It allowed new blood to enter into the gene pool and not allow the family unit to stagnate. 

 

Werewolves, on the other hand, were more evolved then their wilder cousins if only because they used human intellect in addition to their instinct and sense-memory. While there was a nominal hierarchy established – Alpha, Beta, Omega – it wasn't often as rigidly maintained and much fluidity between the ranks was allowed since packs were comprised of families, born, and bitten, so even though most Alphas ruled with an iron fist, Betas and Omegas tended to scrabble amongst themselves for power, trying for dominance plays to enhance their standings.

 

Had Stiles truly been the unaware human he was pretending to be, the sudden cornering of him and Scott at lunch would've baffled and frightened him instead of amused and intrigued him. The Hale Pack used to be seventy strong with several family units making up the internal structure, which helped cement their power as one of the most powerful packs on the West Coast. Time, diffidence, poor leadership, and hunters had slowly eroded them until they were left defenseless and alone, ripe for the fire that decimated their remaining numbers.

 

Only, it wasn't completely true, now was it? The wolves arranged before him now – the three pointed out in the lunch room – were rough and tumble as only the bitten truly were, yet proof positive things weren't as cut and dry as originally believed.

 

“I don't _know_ you,” the female – Erica – purred, her crimson wet mouth shaping the words obscenely. Had Stiles swung her way, which he would if Deucalion ever asked it of him, he might've felt a stirring south of his belt line as he obviously was supposed to. It was tedious to allow her to think she had the upper hand, yet Stiles was fully aware of what was expected of him, so he allowed memories of the other night to slip into his mind, thereby beckoning forth a mating heat, and more importantly, _the scent_.

 

Her self-satisfied smirk slipped onto a tremblingly youthful face, and Stiles averted his gaze to the other boys as if intimidated by a pretty girl. Besides, he'd already cataloged her weaknesses and figured if it came down to a physical fight, he could gain yank the upper hand right back. Corsets and high heels were as much a weapon for her to use as to be used against her, regardless of werewolf stamina or healing.

 

Isaac and Matt were obviously used to Erica's attention grabbing stunts and patiently waited for him to look at them. She was clearly senior to them in rank, despite her relationship with Matt, and something he also just as clearly resented. The burning anger simmering in his eyes was a stuttering flame compared to the hellfire Stiles was used to from Duke, but an ordinary teen would definitely be cowed by it; especially when he crowded in closer, intent on using his bulk to frighten the little human, only it backfired because Stiles was taller by at least two inches. This obviously pissed him off even more, so he turned his malevolent gaze on Scott, an unpleasantly wolfish smile stretching his lips.

 

“Who's the fag?” Matt asked a reticent Scott. Stiles' companion had gone silent the moment these three had appeared before them on the quad, but he stiffened at the slur, his face contorting into true anger that made Matt lean away.

 

“Shut up Matt or I'll report you for sexual harassment. I bet you don't want another repeat of the Danny incident.”

 

The threat spoken with a low insistent tone was strong enough to make Matt back away even further with wide frantic eyes and for Isaac to bridle forward, his upper lip pulled back over sharp teeth. They weren't quite fangs yet, but quickly on their way. Stiles sighed internally at the continued lack of control displayed even as Erica reached out and smacked her boyfriend upside the head with a lightly clawed hand, ignoring Isaac's territorial snarl. There was an odd dynamic here that he didn't understand and felt he needed to figure out quickly if he was going to get a good picture of what exactly was going on in the resurrected Hale Pack.

 

“Don't be a fucking idiot,” he heard Erica whisper, “You know what'll happen if you get written up or suspended again.”

 

“Back off now, Isaac. Don't make me do this.”

 

Isaac abruptly pulled back and slammed his lips over his teeth so fast, he cut the bottom one on his incisor. A pink tongue swiped at the incriminating evidence of his turning and he turned his face away from Scott.

 

Clearly there was history here between Scott and the betas – well, Isaac and Erica were betas and Matt hovering between that and omegadom – which begged the question about the balance between the pack and the Emissary. Packs only had _one_ Emissary, yet these wolves were responding to Scott's entreaties as if _he_ was theirs. No human – Spark or no – had the ability to make barely controlled wolves back down unless there was a mystical connection between them; as far as anyone knew, Deaton still held the rank for the Hale Pack.

 

Unless these weren't Hale wolves at all, but another pack's? Was it possible that Beacon Hills had two competing packs in the same town? It wasn't completely unheard of, packs sharing the same territory, but usually they were...related.

 

Hadn't Alpha Hale – Peter the former Alpha's brother – said he and _three others_ had escaped death and retreated to New York? In the case of a family heavy pack like the Hales, their power usually descended along familial lines – rarely did the Alpha-ship go outside and usually under horrific circumstances – so it wasn't _impossible_ that _two_ wolves of the same blood sharing the red eyes. Stiles would have to research this more thoroughly and somehow ingratiate himself into these three's inner circle to fully understand what exactly was going on.

 

Apparently his talents weren't going to waste after all.

 

There were no more words exchanged except some sort of growled retaliatory threat uttered by Matt in response to the challenge to his wolf-hood, though it was said at a decibel only those with acute hearing would understand. And Stiles, as human as he was, had trained himself to further his senses in an attempt to limit his liability to Duke so he caught the tail end of it, which seemed to indicate a rematch on the field.

 

“What is he talking about, the field?”

 

Scott flashed him a surprised look and Stiles realized too late he wasn't supposed to hear the parting shot. He switched his gaze towards the departing wolves' backs, idly noting Erica lead with Isaac behind her, and Matt behind Isaac.

 

“Sorry about that, it wasn't what it looked like.”

 

_Three teenaged wolves attempting to assert dominance? Please, do tell, what was it then?_

 

“You're...friends...with them?”

 

The hesitation was calculated, drawn out, so Stiles could see if Scott was as transparent as he seemed or more like an onion who's layers hadn't fully been peeled back.

 

Scott shuffled a little, staring down at the ruins of his lunch where they lay on the ground. He'd hastily stood when the terrible threesome showed up, forgetting about the lunch tray in his lap, and had upended his food at their feet. Stiles, meanwhile, had somewhat expected the bluster and had set aside his own food, which he returned to as he took another appreciative bite of the salad while waiting for a reply.

 

“They're really not as bad as they seem, I swear. Isaac is just really protective of Matt and Matt's a dick, yes, but he's also a really loyal guy too.”

 

“And who's Danny?”

 

A red flush crawled across Scott's face and down his throat. “Um, this gay guy at school. He's, uh, the brunette sitting with Lydia and Jackson and the Lacrosse team's best goalie. Well, only goalie really, but you know. We're all on the team, actually: Isaac, Matt, me, Danny, and Jackson. Jackson's the team captain.”

 

“I see.”

 

“I'm sorry he called you that word.”

 

Stiles shrugged. It was true, he _was_ gay, so he wasn't insulted, but even if he was strictly hetero, he still wouldn't be insulted. His skin wasn't that thin, not by a long shot.

 

“He's an ignorant jack off who's not worth my time, so don't worry about it.”

 

“You're kinda different, aren't you?”

 

“Dude, look, I'm not gonna say it doesn't suck that people still use words like that as insults, but why should I listen to them? They don't know me, who I am, _what_ I am, so fuck them and the little dog they rode in on.”

 

Scott stared at him now, embarrassment forgotten in his incredulity. Stiles was a little taken aback by his own intensity so he dropped his eyes back to his food, and more felt than saw when Scott relaxed too.

 

“So, what's your next class?”

 

Stiles allowed Scott to change the subject, sensing his companion was a lot more shaken by the encounter than he let on, and they chatted amicably for the next ten minutes until the after lunch bell rang. They parted ways as Scott's remaining classes were on the other side of the campus, and Stiles set off, mind whirling with all the new information he'd gathered.

 

Intent on his own thoughts, Stiles didn't have the same situational awareness he usually did, and therefore wasn't cognizant of the attack until a few seconds before it happened. Split second timing had him ducking the fist coming at his face, but he couldn't dance out of the other hand yanking him into the shadows of the building and slamming him into the wall. Winded, but far from down for the count, Stiles tensed his body into combative readiness until he realized it was Isaac who'd grabbed him. He immediately sagged and tried to look as pathetic as possible.

 

“I don't care who you are but if you do anything to hurt Scott, I will _end_ you.”

 

The last part was snarled through bared teeth and the threat enforced with glowing beta gold eyes. Stiles didn't check the visceral reaction of his hind brain and the air was perfumed with his fear.

 

“What _are_ you?” he whispered shakily, crowing when Isaac's eyes widened with horror at what he'd revealed.

 

There was no way to avoid the punch this time and Stiles wondered exactly how this would be explained just before he dropped to the ground unconscious. 


	8. It's Like Nancy Drew and the Ninety-Nine Stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a bump on the head for his troubles.

Stiles had spent a good portion of his formative years learning the differences between human and wolven physiology, and understanding how he was much _much_ more breakable than his supernatural counterparts, which inevitably taught him how to block pain until he could split it into manageable levels that allowed him to survive. So it was unsurprising he felt the pain before he heard the whispers as his innate situational awareness was subsumed by his swollen right eye and large bump on the back of his head. Once he categorized his physical ailments, remembered the events leading to his current situation, he allowed his other senses to filter outside information.

 

“...what the hell, Isaac...”

 

“I didn't mean to hit him hard...”

 

“...where's...he should be...”

 

“ _He knows!_ I wolfed out...”

 

“...how many times did you hit...”

 

Two male voices, one familiar the other not; it took a moment for him to place the higher panicked voice as the werewolf Isaac. His companion, however, wasn't one who'd been introduced to him as of yet, and Stiles felt it prudent to remain motionless and pretend to still be unconscious in an effort to gain more insight to the argument.

 

“Get Lydia.”

“I can't you idiot! It's her turn today and you know that means she can't be distracted.”

 

_Lydia...Lydia...why do I...oh yes, the cafeteria._

 

“What do we do then? He's still out, but when he comes to...he'll _know._ ”

 

“Jesus Christ, Isaac, his aunt is the new English teacher here. What do you _think_ is going to happen? You're gonna get dragged before Gerard and you _know_ this is exactly what they've been waiting for.”

 _Gerard? They? What, or rather,_ who _are they talking about?_

 

“What...what if...he doesn't wake up?”

 

The implications in his words hit Stiles immediately and all his thoughts stopped cold; there was always a very high chance of him dying beneath wolven claws given his lifestyle, but not like this. Duke would have to forgive him for blowing his cover because he wasn't going to go down like a bitch, and he'd studied the blond wolf enough to know a few weak points.

 

Fortunately for him, or perhaps more accurately for Isaac, the mysterious male slapped the wolf upside the head and spat out, “Get that fucking thought out of your head! We've just barely managed to convince the Argents we've got the deaths under control, so there's _no fucking way_ you can start murdering students because you don't have your wolf under control.”

 

“I do,” the wolf rumbled. “There's just _something_ about him that sets me off – Erica and Matt too.”

The male slapped the wolf again for good measure before muttering something. Despite Stiles' position besides them, he couldn't understand the words coming out of the guy's mouth, and it took a second to realize it wasn't due to hearing loss, but because he was swearing and or speaking in another language. He couldn't recognize any of the words as it didn't appear to be on of the six languages Stiles was fluent in, and his curiosity was ignited again.

 

"I think...I think he's waking up.”

 

Stiles cursed himself briefly as he realized he'd forgone regulating his heartbeat and the interest in the other male's activities had allowed his heart rate to elevate. Groaning, he put a hand to his head and made a show of wincing against the light – it was annoying, sure, but not painful – and struggled to sit up.

 

“Wha-what happened?' he slurred in a hopefully distraught tone.

 

“You fell and hit your head man. Isaac and I were here to help you up.”

 

Stiles slowly blinked and allowed his gaze to move up a pair of tight blue jeans across a stretched white t-shirt, and into dark blue eyes. He finally had a face to put to the voice, and realized it was the lickable cheekbones from the cafeteria tour.

 

“I fell?”

 

“Uh yeah, I scared you when I came up behind you, 'cause you slipped backwards and hit your head on the post.”

 

The impromptu lie was half-way decent in his estimation, but didn't account for the ache in his eye.

 

“And my eye? It feels like its swelling.”

 

“Ah, in my, uh, attempt to catch you before falling, you, uh kinda fell on my fist.”

 

Stiles manfully stifled the incredulous chuckle wanting to burst by pursing his lips. He looked at Isaac and saw how contrite the wolf looked, a bowing of his shoulders in instinctive submission. The blond didn't look capable of wolfing out now, nor was he as cocky as he was this morning. There was a faint buzz in the air and Stiles wondered if it was something Jackson – he finally remembered his name – was doing.

 

“Thanks...I guess? I mean, you shouldn't scare people, you know? And might not've been your fault. I sometimes suffer from epilepsy.”

 

The relief on both boys' faces was incredible and made Stiles want to mess with them a little more. He shuffled around as if trying to get up, and Isaac stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Stiles shrank from it then shook himself and allowed the other boy to pull him to his feet. Jackson stood watching them with a now inscrutable look on his face.

 

“Look man, I don't want any trouble with you, okay? I don't know what I did to piss you off, so just stay away from me. Far, far away.” The tremble in his voice was a nice touch, in his opinion, and Isaac winced when he heard it. If the wolf was using his nose, he would've caught the lack of fear present in Stiles, but it was obvious he wasn't very well-trained.

 

“I'm sorry about earlier...it was...you know...you're the first new kid and we thought it would be funny to haze you. Nothing more. Uh sorry?”

 

Hazing? That was what he was going with? If Isaac or the other two were an example of the type of wolves in this town, it was a wonder humans hadn't discovered the supernatural much sooner. Or hell, the hunters hadn't wiped them clean off the map.

 

 _Hunters...Mrs. Argent...Gerard...Argent...of course_.

 

Screw class, he needed to talk to Jenny as soon as possible because this just got a little more complicated.

 

“Whatever, I gotta go before I'm late.” The warning bell rang. “Or later than I already am.”

 

Isaac's mouth gaped open a few times as if he was trying to say something, but in the end he just nodded. Jackson, who still hadn't introduced himself, just stared some more, and Stiles felt his eyes boring into his back as he walked away. He _still_ didn't know what the hell was going on with Scott and the wolves, but now he had the Argents in town, and also needed to figure out how the hell Lydia and Jackson fit into this little picture.

 

Of course, finding Jenny was easier said than done since Stiles hadn't really paid attention to her schedule any more than his, so he ended up going to the office and asking an aide there for his aunt's classroom. Her fifth hour was full and he didn't bother interrupting, waiting patiently for the bell to ring by slumping down against the lockers with a book in hand in case anyone happened by. His luck held, however, and no one saw him until the period ended and the hallways flooded with students.

 

Jenny was erasing the blackboard - God this was a backwards town to still have _blackboards_ – when he strolled in. She was dressed primly enough with a knee-length tweed skirt and some sort of sweater type shirt, and he was tempted to make an Madonna/whore comment, but decided to stow it for later when they weren't in danger of being overheard.

 

“Teacher, I have a problem.”

 

“What are you doing here, Stiles? Your last class isn't in this building.”

 

She still hadn't turned to face him, and he propped himself on the edge of her desk with his backpack flung on the floor.

 

“I met some interesting people today.”

 

“You don't say – oh my god, what happened to your face.”

 

“See,” he commented dryly, “this is one aspects of being introduced to new people here. One with a rage problem didn't like me being in his space, and he let me know.”

 

A black brow arched with incredulity. “Already? You found trouble _already_?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “It's a talent, what can I say?”

 

“So, did this person with a rage problem have friends?”

 

“Three that I know of...”

 

She nodded absently, a long pale finger rubbing against her lips. “And your new tour buddy?”

 

“Not sure just yet. He doesn't have an anger management problem, but he definitely can calm people down.”

 

He debated about reporting Jackson then decided against it because they might be allies now through Duke's machinations, yet it wouldn't always be so, and he needed to make sure he always had the upper hand with her. It didn't used to be that way, of course, but he was a naïve and trusting fool no longer.

 

“Plan?”

 

He smiled wryly. “Join the Lacrosse team.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Most of those I need to keep an eye on are on the team. How else for me to get close and personal with them?”

 

“Sure you aren't trying to find a way into their pants?”

 

“Underage bait is fun to play with, but I don't shit where I work.” _Looking_ , however, wasn't off the table.

 

“Keep that in mind,” Jenny warned. Stiles merely stared at her and waited until she couldn't keep eye contact with him any longer. She disguised her actions by shuffling papers on her desk, but he wasn't fooled and knew she knew too.

 

“Well, do what you have to do, and I'll meet you after your last class in the parking lot.”

 

“No class?”

 

“No, my sixth period is free which is when I'll do my student planning.”

 

A thought occurred to Stiles. “Have you met the most charming Mrs. Argent?”

 

“And Gerard, the principal. Her father-in-law.”

 

“I thought their females were wiped out.”

 

“ _I_ have information _you_ don't have?”

 

Cursing himself for revealing his ignorance, Stiles allowed a sharp smile to bend his lips into an upward curve, baring his teeth. “Unlike you, I belong to someone who actually utilizes me so I don't have as much time on my hands as you.”

 

Jenny lost the superior smirk, though her eyes still gleamed. Words were the only weapons they had at their disposal now except they couldn't devolve into their usual fracas, so she shelved her emotions for later when they would be alone.

 

“The current Mrs. Argent married into the clan – she married Gerard's eldest son Chris and gave birth to a daughter. It was Kate, the youngest child, and Gerard's wife who were killed along with some cousins.”

 

“What happened to Mrs. Argent's daughter?”

 

“That's the mystery. No one knows where she is; we have information on her until she was ten then she disappeared from view. It doesn't seem like anyone in the hunting world has any idea either.”

 

That _was_ big news and something Stiles _should've_ known because the Argents were the closest thing to hunting royalty since their heritage stretched back to the Old World. They were the first family to emigrate to America and hunted as many native shifters as they did werewolves; for them, anything from the supernatural world was fair game.

 

“How old would she be now?”

 

Jenny thought about it for a moment. “Well, she would probably be about sixteen or seventeen.”

 

“What does that have to do with what's going on in Beacon Hills? I mean, as far as I know, they haven't been actively hunting since five years ago. At least Chris hasn't.”

 

“I didn't even know Gerard was still alive until we came here. He hasn't been in the limelight since the Cherry Road fiasco.”

 

Stiles winced at the polite allusion to the Granger Pack Massacre; it was one of the biggest coups any hunter had scored on the North American Packs since Duke came to power as the Alphas' Alpha.

 

“So we have a resuscitated Hale Pack, a bloodless Emissary, and the Argents.” He exchanged looks with Jenny, their minds focused on the mystery before them. “What the _fuck_ is going on in this town?”

 


End file.
